Bauhaus

It’s 28 minutes and the river is Bauhaus and a god
lipping slowly, steadily, not feared, but worshipped for
its plausibility. Each day I approach the north branch,
the river is a series
of renovations confronting me.
I am impressed. I am the workman who has left
new windows overnight in the grass.
The glass cross-sections
the night with the work each renovation demands.
On Michigan
more people take the pedway. Here, the Trojan dead
are Bauhaus, too. Glass in the view, and the casual
upscale dining.
Each day each day each day I take
my break on the north branch, and the river is a series
of renovations. I come away impressed.